


Hot Steel and Ash

by Momoisme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A bit of strong language, ABO, F/F, Fuck canon I guess, Gen, One Shot, Sort Of, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momoisme/pseuds/Momoisme





	Hot Steel and Ash

Alphas and their mammothshit. Elayn bit back an angry growl she could feel boiling in her chest as she stalked into Whiterun. Even that little bit of self control was grating on the beast in her chest, though she was sure that little flower girl wandering past her with a wary eye appreciated it.

Hircine's gift ran in her blood, granted her strength of noble beasts, but it has its own kind of drawbacks. The moons rode her harder than even the staunchest lunatic, and when they were full... She hated the pricking feelings along her skin, the tension that bled into her bones and blended into irritation boiling under her skin. As she pushed through the daytime crowds, she could feel the presence of every person like an oppression on her senses. If it weren't for her reputation and the Jarl's favor she was sure the guards would have more to say about the Nord woman scowling belligerently at everything and nothing.

Fighting. Fucking. It was what an alpha was good for. And it was what she left her pack to avoid. The bastards had held a special standard for the strong's hold on the weak, and they assumed she was nothing but another follower, or worse. There were plenty of her kind that gathered bitches like they thought themselves stallions. She'd nearly ended up in such a state before she'd ripped her pack leader's face apart and fled into the night. There was nothing in her that wanted to subjugate, not until she'd stolen her first dragon's soul and felt an instinct older than her kind possessed. 

The first full moons after she finally decided to make her den in the house the Jarl offered her, those had been the worst. She'd come back to Whiterun after retrieving the Redguard's sword, practically thrown it at him, and headed for Jorrvaskr to find someone to fight. Aela had been there, offered her services, "to blow off steam." After it got steamy Elayn didn't show her face around the Companions for two weeks, until the jokes about howls in the night stopped.

Whatever instincts warred in her, she had better control. So the next time it happened she made sure she was away from town, and pointed herself at some lowlands with a bandit problem. Skyrim certainly had its share. That time she hadn't done anything worse than wet her claws and take care of a pest problem in the process. It got a little easier to balance the hair-trigger reactions to sink her teeth, or something else, in something living. She didn't want to become an exile, knew she had better control, and promised herself the next time she would stay in Whiterun.

In the Cloud District the miasma of smells finally eased and she felt her breathing do the same. The wind changed and she picked up the scent of hot steel, and ash. On a hunch she followed her nose, finding herself at the Skyforge where Eorlund Grey-mane practiced his craft. Finest blacksmith in Skyrim indeed; as she watched from afar she never once saw him lose the rhythm of his hammer. It was soothing, the repetition of struck steel ringing in the air, and the heat of the forge drove away any scents from below.

"Are you going to stand there or did you need something?" the blacksmith asked, his back to Elayn. 

She blinked, startled, thinking she had been stealthy. "No," she said, mind unwilling to form more words than that. 

The old blacksmith grunted and went on with his work like Elayn wasn't there. The sword he was crafting was beginning to take shape as he hammered the sides to a dull edge. She kept watching, taking his silence as a sign that she wasn't being chased off yet. She came a little closer, head inclined for a better view. 

The old blacksmith made a noise. It sounded like a horker clearing its throat. "If you're going to make yourself a nuisance, you're going to help me out a little. Hand me the tongs."

Elayn glanced around the worktable off to the right and snagged an oversized pair of calipers. Eorlund gave them a glance as he took them. The sword went back in the fire, and he eyed the bellows. Elayn stumbled as she took the cue and pumped air into the forge, feeling the heat intensify. As it did, she felt a little more of the tension burning inside crumble. Eorlund flicked his hand and she stopped. The sword stayed in the heat a little longer until the old blacksmith was satisfied, and went back to hammering.

The work took hours. When one sword was done another took its place. Sometimes a bit of armor needed repair, and Eorlund let Elayn hover over his shoulder while he refitted sockets and bored holes into the leather so it could be stitched back properly. This he let her do, muttering under his breath about Elayn making herself useful. When she'd arrived at the forge, it was barely reaching noon, and by the time the beast in her blood no longer simmered, the moons were high. Eorlund caught her staring at Masser and shook his head, making that horker sound again. 

"Why are you still here?" he said in the growl of one who knows no other tone. "Shouldn't you be out running and singing with the rest of them?" 

Elayn's neck twinged at how hard her head twisted to stare at the old blacksmith, shocked. He didn't look up from his worktable as he said shortly, "I've served the Companions nearly my whole life, you're not fooling me. Go on, you've earned it."

Feeling a kind of pride that had nothing to do with the hunt or kill, Elayn nodded and went on her way without a word. The old man had been a surly one, but there was honesty in his grumblings, that had soothed the alpha inside her in a way that nothing else did. Next time the moons were full, she would be back, she was sure. The blacksmith's work was never done.


End file.
